


'that's the start of something'

by spheeris1



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 'Of All The Gin Joints' // One-shot // Lauren is learning to play the game, but feels the pull to be played anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'that's the start of something'

~ ~

You are taught to seek out the cause of pain, to clasp your hands around these agonies – lungs that won’t expand, veins that won’t move blood, hearts that won’t keep beating – and then follow them back, like bread-crumbs on a woodland path, all the way back to where they started.

What you are not taught is how to handle what you find once you get there.

/ /

In the world of the Fae, double-talk just comes with the territory – dark or light.

And if you are a human within this world, you just learn to hear what you have to and ignore the rest; ignore the sneers and the cruelties, shove aside the barbs and the jokes at your expense.

In fact, what you end up doing – as a human in the world of the Fae – is learning the fine art of ignoring your own humanness. Tears are weak and love is fleeting, remorse is time-consuming and anger only yields the same results as eagerness.

A girlfriend in a coma, a noose-like necklace, a dirty cell, and days upon days on the run…

…well, they are all just different forms of punishment, aren’t they?

In the world of the Fae, merging truth with fiction just comes with the lay of the land – dark or light.

And if you are a human within this world, if you are Lauren Lewis within this world... well, you just learn how to walk the walk the best you can; you figure out the steps to this little dance and every time you go the wrong way, you backtrack and start all over again.

And again and again and again, until you get it right, until you own the floor they’ve placed you on.

What you end up doing – as Lauren Lewis in the world of the Fae – is learning the fine art of subterfuge in the midst of submission.

/ /

And maybe, at the root of all things, you are as dark as you seem.

/ /

Evony, as Lauren has come to know her, isn’t as ruthless as she is pragmatic.

And these are lines that Lauren understands: life and death, affection and hate… 

…well, they are all sides to the same coin, aren’t they?

Still, they debate morals over drinks and they twist honesty until it is skewed like the rest of the world and they chat about trust like other women coo over romance; they are flirting with danger – oh so willingly – and while Evony does not suffer from a lack of attention, she always leans in a bit closer than needed to make a fine-tipped point.

Hot breath against Lauren’s ear, syllables sliding against the cheek, and it’s not enough to make Lauren crumble – Lauren can be pragmatic, too – but this action sends a warm flutter of want into the pit of Lauren’s stomach and so some things are hard to contradict.

She could measure it – beats per second, dilation of pupils, pheromones rising from the skin – and make this moment into science. She could turn sex into an experiment - just where to touch, just where to linger, just how long to press and when to retreat once more – and scratch down the findings with expert precision.

And chances are Evony wouldn’t shy away…

…chances are Evony would welcome such an advance.

And Lauren wonders late at night, with all her brand-new secrets kept cleverly right underneath everyone’s noses, if perhaps she would welcome a chance or two as well.

/ /

They carry on like friends – deadly, suspicious friends – but friends nonetheless.

And when there isn’t work to complete and when there isn’t a fall-out to contain and when there isn’t Evony’s hard stare trained at whoever made the mistake of crossing The Morrigan…

…well, they tumble into a habit of sorts and it feels strangely comfortable, doesn’t it?

Maybe it is dinner and then too much of that special brew. Or a bad film runs too late, so why not just stay the night? Maybe Lauren laughs a bit too loud and then catches a glimmer of something unexpected racing across Evony’s face – is it longing or just the play of the lamp light?

They carry on like friends – distrusting, sharp-witted friends – but friends nonetheless.

And Lauren feels her body sink back, lowering to the couch and all its smoothness, and Evony traces the lines of what is shown – the neck, the collar-bone, curve of the lips – with a gaze and Lauren’s been waiting for this.

A pay-off to this game, the next step in this dance, discovering the source to a whole host of wounds…

/ /

…and when you are Lauren Lewis in the world of the Fae, you learn the fine art of getting that which you crave – and at any cost.

/ /

Evony, as Lauren has come to know her, isn’t as impervious as she’d like the world to believe.

And so the pulse jumps when Lauren brings her tongue to it, mapping out the wrist before trailing up to where the arm bends – caught for a second until her teeth drag out an exit – and Evony’s face betrays nothing more than mild interest, but Lauren knows better than to put faith in an expression.

The palm of her hand lands against Evony’s chest and sweet thunder rattles the ribcage, reverberates along the tips of Lauren’s fingers, and desire is the one thing that no one can hide.

But a knowing smile slides effortlessly onto Evony’s lips as she draws ever nearer - kisses placed so tenderly to the corner of Lauren’s mouth and to the slope of Lauren’s jawline, a soft brand to flesh that is oh so sorely tempted to be claimed…

…and Lauren wonders, her head slowly tilting back as Evony envelopes her like smoke, just what yearning has been revealed without her even saying a single damn word.

/ /

You are taught to search endlessly for solutions, to reach for these painful riddles while others flee – why do we ache when we are left behind, why do muscles turn to knots in the grip of irrational fear, why do we keep trying even as the body breaks down – and then to finally solve them, like puzzles in the Sunday paper, all neat in their little boxes once again.

What you are not taught is what to do when you cannot figure anything out anymore.

/ /

Evony tastes like an answer, though – at least for now – and well…

…that’s the start of something.

/ /

(end)


End file.
